few days, and a reputable Dennitzan arranged for to learn about this.”
“I didn’t–No, what are you saying?” Hazeltine cried.
Flandry toyed with the case. “As was,” he continued levelly, “the only
word which could be sent, since the Gospodar would require proof and is
no fool … the word was merely she’d been sold for a slave. Well, ample
provocation. Where were you, between leaving Terra and landing here? Did
you maybe report straight to Aycharaych?”
Hazeltine banged his glass down on the chair arm. “Lies!” he shouted.
Red and white throbbed across his visage. “Listen, I’m your son. I swear
to you by–”
“Never mind. And don’t waste good liquor. If I’d settled on Dennitza as
I planned, the price we’d’ve paid for Scotch–” Flandry gave his lips a
respite from the cigarette. He waved it. “How were you recruited? By the
Merseians, I mean. Couldn’t be brainscrub. I know the signs too well.
Blackmail? No, implausible. You’re a bright lad who wouldn’t get
suckered into that first mistake they corral you by–a brave lad who’d
sneer at threats. But sometime during the contacts you made in line of
duty–”
Hazeltine’s breath rasped. “I didn’t! How can I prove to you, Father, I
didn’t?”
“Simple,” Flandry said. “You must have routine narco immunization. But
we can hypnoprobe you.”
Hazeltine sagged back. His glass rolled across the floor.
“The Imperial detachment brought Intelligence personnel and their
apparatus, you know,” Flandry continued. “I’ve asked, and they can take
you tomorrow morning. Naturally, any private facts which emerge will
stay confidential.”